Phoenix
Three Days Later
As much as Cole’s words after our Tuesday meeting had put me into a tailspin, seeing Jess and getting her number had taken me out of that and shot me into a straight-up trajectory.
We’d regularly talked through text messaging and even once on the phone since I had gotten her number, with a date set up for the following Sunday. As the work of a biker and the work of a bartender actually had a decent amount of overlap, scheduling a time to hang out wasn’t difficult. We just picked Sunday because we figured it was the least likely to get interrupted.
I was on cloud nine with it all.
And I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take before that cloud dissipated and that rocket to the stars turned into an uncontrolled free-fall.
Jess was a wonderful girl, but I was in a difficult state, looking for intimacy in spots that couldn’t give it. It was never like my father and I had an especially emotional and close relationship, but I could still feel his absence every day. I needed to only think about how I’d see him for hours a day, literally almost all day, at Carter’s Auto Repair in Springsville to know that a presence like that wasn’t just easily forgotten.
And that drive for closeness... it was doubled by the fact that there just weren’t many women in Ashton. Supposedly, Owen and Cole had arranged a club party tonight that would bring over a lot more girls, but I couldn’t help but wonder how many of those women were just recycled from the Black Reapers. So it was like not only was I desperate for... something, there was really only one person who could provide it.
I just reminded myself I was a fucking Phoenix, not a Pink Raven or any other condescending bullshit; I was a biker, not a pussy hipster or hopeless romantic; I was a man, not a little boy. I didn’t need to spend all this time thinking about what it meant because I would figure it out as we moved forward, and however it turned out, I would be fine.
How ridiculous these thoughts were. I laughed to myself as I sat in the clubhouse, just hours before the club party.
You laugh because you’re afraid of what will happen if nothing happens.
I ignored the thought as I heard the front door to the clubhouse open.
“Hello?” I shouted, trying to see who had entered.
“Do not be alarmed.”
I stood up as soon as I heard that voice, shocked that not only had that person come, they had done so without apparently telling me or anyone else in the nearby vicinity. It was bold, almost stupid. Even seeing them didn’t erase the surprise.
“Father Marcellus?” I said. “What are you doing here? Are you defecting?”
“No,” he said.
He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept the night before. That wasn’t the norm for Father Marcellus; even though he was not exactly free of vice, he was by no means the heaviest partier or the most shameless person I knew.
“I came here, Austin, because I need to talk to you as a man.”
That’s not good. He only uses real names when something serious has happened.
“OK,” I said. “Follow me.”
I led him outside and behind the clubhouse, where a small hiking trail sprawled out. It was a trail I had never seen any of the other Gray Reapers ever use—in fact, I wasn’t even sure that it actually led anywhere. But it served its purpose of giving us privacy.
“Last night, the Black Reapers were attacked by the Fallen Saints. It was a vicious attack, and if you saw our building now, you would stare in shock at just how ugly the destruction was.”
My immediate thought was, “So?” But out of respect for the good chaplain, I just nodded without saying a word.
“We expected their attack, especially once they figured out that our numbers had depleted. Because of this, we were able to repel the assault without casualties. However, our strategy of being on guard and being hyper-alert like this is unsustainable, Austin. We cannot repel—”
“Father.”
I knew exactly where this was going, and as much as I respected Father Marcellus, I wasn’t going to let him have a field day guilt tripping me to try to return.
“You are welcome to come here to the Gray Reapers if it is safety you seek,” I said. “But the rest of the Black Reapers can rot for all I care. After all, they’re letting my father rot six feet beneath the surface.”
Father Marcellus paused dead in his tracks, let out a long sigh, and bowed his head.
“Austin,” he said.
